


The Counter-Clockwise Raid

by dracsmith



Category: The Rat Patrol
Genre: Blowing Things Up, Gen, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 17:21:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20586188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracsmith/pseuds/dracsmith
Summary: Troy is suspicious when a contact from the Special Air Services wants the Rat Patrol to take over a botched mission.





	The Counter-Clockwise Raid

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in REMOTE CONTROL #6, May 1996.
> 
> This story was inspired by the research I did when I began watching Rat Patrol and wanted to learn more about WW2 in the North African theater.

Their latest mission had been a success, and the Rat Patrol was planning to head back to Headquarters for their next orders. They were making camp in the desert due south of Cyrenaica when the radio crackled. After the proper identification codes had been given, they heard the familiar voice of Captain Boggs, their usual base commander. "I need you to make a special pick-up tonight," he told them. "A Captain Watson of the Special Air Services. Six foot one, brown hair, blue eyes; God knows what he'll be wearing. Speaks French and Arabic, no German. He missed his rendezvous with Y Patrol this morning and they couldn't wait--had an urgent appointment elsewhere. He just contacted us by radio to explain the delay and ask for our help."

"We'll be glad to help," said Troy. "Where do we pick him up?"

"He'll be hiding out in a wadi just east of the city of Agedabia," said Boggs. "I'll give you map coordinates in a minute. I want you to get him and bring him back to HQ." Boggs paused. "And one more thing, Troy--he outranks you. Need I remind you to give him every cooperation? You're at his disposal. Not the other way around."

"No, you don't." Troy grinned at Hitch over the top of the radio. The Rat Patrol was allowed to get away with a certain amount of insubordination most of the time, but every so often an attempt was made to keep them in line. 

Moffitt came up with the map, ready to mark the rendezvous point. "We're ready for the coordinates now," Troy said. "Sir." Boggs gave them the numbers, and Moffitt marked them carefully as Troy confirmed them. 

After signing off, Troy peered over Moffitt's shoulder at the spot marked on the map. "It's not far from here," he said. "I'd estimate about half an hour's drive. We've got maybe another hour of light left, so we have just enough time to send somebody out and pick him up. Why don't you go with Hitch--you can call out to him in Arabic so if the krauts overhear they won't know it's us." Moffitt nodded.

An hour later the sun was edging close to the horizon. Troy knew the night was about to fall with typical desert abruptness. Before he could start to worry, however, he heard the sound of a jeep engine in the distance, and soon saw Hitch returning with two passengers. Troy and Tully exchanged grins. Hitch was rocketing along the road the way he sometimes did for the sheer joy of speed--and his front seat passenger was holding on for dear life. As the jeep bounced to a halt in front of Troy, he could have sworn Hitch's passenger was positively green. Hitch was smiling as he pushed his goggles up off his face. Tully came around to greet him. "Home again, home again, jiggety jig," said Tully.

The sun dipped below the horizon and it was suddenly dark. "And not a moment too soon," said Troy. He turned to the man in the front passenger seat. "Captain Watson, I presume?"

"The same," said the man with creditable coolness considering the ride he'd just had. "I take it you are Sergeant Troy?" 

Troy nodded. "You've met Private Hitchcock and Sergeant Moffitt," he said, nodding in their directions. He gestured toward Tully. "This is Private Tully Pettigrew." He offered Watson a hand out of the jeep, but Watson waved it away and climbed out by himself, obviously grateful to be back on terra firma. Troy looked him up and down. He fit Boggs' description pretty well, and was wearing plain khaki fatigues with no insignia. He was good-looking, with regular, unremarkable features, and sharp, direct eyes.

Moffitt had climbed out of the back seat and now came to stand beside Watson. "Troy," he said, "the Captain has got a proposal he wants you to listen to."

"All right," said Troy. "Let's hear it."

"Well, Sergeant," said Watson pleasantly. "I want you and your men to return to Agedabia with me and have another go at blowing up that airfield."

_Well, this one certainly doesn't beat around the bush_, thought Troy, regaining his composure as quickly as he could. "Captain Watson, that's out of the question," he said. "My orders are to return you to HQ immediately."

"Not precisely, Sergeant," said Watson with a charming smile. "If I'm not mistaken, your orders are to put yourselves completely at my disposal."

Troy's men were staring at him, wondering what would happen next. As their commander, he was entrusted with their lives, and he'd be damned if he'd throw them away on this fool's errand. But now didn't seem to be the time to debate it. He glared at Watson. "We'll discuss it in the morning," Troy said.

Watson shrugged. "Very well," he said.

Troy didn't like Watson's unruffled demeanor. It was the calm of a man who already knows he's going to win.

* * *

"I don't like it," Troy growled the next morning. "Our orders were very specific. We pick him up, we bring him back. No detours."

"Our orders also said that we were to put ourselves at his disposal for the duration of the mission," Moffitt pointed out. "That means we follow his orders."

"Even when they're suicidal?" Troy's voice rose in anger and he turned away, frustrated. 

Hitch watched the two sergeants arguing in fierce whispers some distance away from their encampment. The object of their concern, Captain Watson, was the picture of unconcern, sitting on his bedroll watching Tully make breakfast, and apparently unaware of the dispute.

Troy took a deep drag from his cigarette and continued, bringing his voice under control. "He's had his chance at blowing up the airfield in Agedabia and it didn't work. I can understand he'd want a second try, but this time the Jerries'll be waiting for us!"

"Not necessarily," Moffitt replied. "Every other time the SAS has attacked, they've made one quick attempt and then withdrawn. Another attack so soon is the last thing they'll expect."

"You can't be sure of that," said Troy. "And I'm not willing to risk my men on it."

"Do you have a choice?"

The orders were clear: they were to give Watson every cooperation. Troy threw his cigarette down on the ground, stamping it out with his boot, and looked directly at Moffitt. "No, I don't. But if anything goes wrong. . . ."

Moffit broke eye contact and stared at the ground. "Look, Troy," he began hesitantly, "I know you don't like having an outsider usurp your command--"

"That's not it," Troy broke in sharply. "You know I wouldn't let pride, or hurt feelings, get in the way of a _legitimate_ mission."

Troy was obviously angry. Moffitt didn't apologize or back down "Then what _is_ it?" he asked. "What's wrong, Troy?"

The animosity faded from Troy's voice as he answered the question honestly. "I don't know. I've just got this gut feeling that something about this setup isn't right."

Moffitt looked back at Troy. "Your instincts have proved right before, Troy," he admitted. "Whatever you decide, I'll support you," he said.

Troy nodded and clapped him briefly on the shoulder. "Let's talk to Watson," he said, and strode back toward the others, Moffitt at his heels.

"All right, Watson, what's the plan?" Troy said. 

"I gather you've decided to go along with it," said Watson.

Troy glanced at Moffitt and bit his tongue. "Yes," was all he said.

"Good-oh," said the Special Air Services agent cheerfully. He began sketching on the dry ground with his finger. "Here's Agedabia, here's the main street, it runs crosswise, so. . . now, the airfield is here. As I found out, you really just can't sneak in; it's too well guarded. But what I reckon is, now that we have someone who speaks German--" he nodded to Moffitt, "what we need to do is steal the password, which is generated at the security office over here," he drew another X on the ground, "and drive a couple of trucks full of explosives right on in. I know where we can get some unmarked trucks, and I understand you people often carry German uniforms. I suggest we split into two teams - Troy, you and Hitchcock find the explosives I had to leave behind; they're concealed in a wadi over here, southeast of the city, while I take Moffitt and Pettigrew in to get the password. We'll rendezvous here by the airfield and use the password to get in. After we've planted the explosives, we should have time to get right out again before they realize what's happened."

The plan was risky, but seemed solid enough, and Troy agreed. But he couldn't shake a feeling in the pit of his stomach that something was going to go wrong, or that something already had gone wrong.

* * *

But the first phase went smoothly enough. Watson led them around the outskirts of the city to a ridge that overlooked a repair depot where a metalworking shop had been set up. Pieces of tanks and trucks and armored cars were scattered all around a couple of crude sheds. The finished works were neatly parked over to one side: tanks with shiny turrets patched onto scorch-marked bodies; cars with new armor plating bolted over vulnerable damage; and several reconditioned trucks, battered but serviceable. No Germans could be seen at first glance.

"It's too hot to work in the day," whispered Watson, gesturing to the sheet-metal sheds. "There should be a guard somewhere, but if we can get a jump on him, we can help ourselves." 

They watched for a few more minutes and soon a guard came into view, pacing slowly around the compound. Troy turned to Hitch. "Can you get him?"

"Piece of cake, Sarge," said Hitch, pulling a throwing knife from his belt. He watched the guard for a moment, waiting for him to stop. Eventually the guard paused during his round to take a swig from his canteen, and Hitch's deadly missile found its target.

The four Rats and the SAS man scrambled out of cover, weapons still drawn in case of trouble. But there was none. They ran across the hot flat ground to the lineup of repaired trucks. Troy directed Hitch and Tully to hide the guard's body, while he, Moffitt and Watson inspected the trucks to find the likeliest two. 

"I say, Troy," said Moffitt, peering around. "Shouldn't we try to inflict a little damage as long as we're here? Jerry's ability to rebuild his tanks almost as fast as we blow them up is costing our side dearly."

Watson answered before Troy could get a word in. "It's a good idea, Sergeant, but we don't want to alert them to our presence in the area."

"And a dead guard won't?" asked Troy.

"One _missing_ guard is a very different matter from a blown-up building," said Watson coolly. Troy frowned but held his peace. They finished making their inspections in silence. Hitch and Tully returned from their task and Troy gave the order to move out in the selected vehicles.

* * *

The next move was to collect the explosives Watson had hidden: another easy task, easily accomplished, which only made Troy more nervous than ever.

* * *

Late in the afternoon a convoy of two pulled up to the gate at the city entrance as the guard raised his hand. "What is your business here?" he asked in German.

"Delivering supplies," said Moffitt. "Myself, and the truck after me."

"I know that accent!" the guard exclaimed. Moffitt felt Watson tense next to him. The young man went on. "You're from Bavaria, aren't you? München?"

"Close," said Moffitt with a grin. "Petershausen." 

"My aunt and uncle lived in Altomünster, right up the road. I used to visit them in the summers." The young face was wistful. 

Watson seemed to have relaxed.

Moffitt nodded. "It's especially beautiful in the summer. But you should see it when it snows."

"When this is over and we all go home, I shall," said the guard. 

Some more trucks were pulling up behind Troy and Hitch. "We mustn't hold up the line," said Moffitt, with genuine regret in his voice.

"You're right, of course," said the guard. "Move on through." He opened the gate and waved the two trucks in.

"What was that all about?" asked Tully.

"Old Home Week," said Moffitt, distracted. _For someone who doesn't understand German_, he thought, _Watson's reaction was pretty suspicious. Then again, it could have just been coincidence, I suppose, or maybe he's especially good at reading body language_. They reached the point where they were supposed to split up and take different paths. Troy waved cheerfully as Hitch steered their truck away. Moffitt waved back, feeling worried and uncertain.

* * *

They were a few blocks away from the security headquarters when Watson tapped Moffitt's arm. "I say, old chap, feels like the right rear tire might be going. A flat could slow us down later; I'd like to have a look at it now."

Tully leaned out the passenger side window and peered down at the tires. "Looks all right to me. And I checked them all just before we started."

_Awfully convenient time for a flat tire_, thought Moffitt, _especially if one were trying to sabotage our meeting with Troy_. This was going to delay them just enough to get behind schedule. He needed a private word with Tully, without arousing Watson's suspicions. He pulled the truck over into a deserted alley, nudged Watson and spoke to him quietly. "You get started on the tire, I'll handle the insubordination. I know he's not used to dealing with commissioned officers, but this is just unacceptable."

Watson nodded with understanding. "Don't be too hard on the poor chap. I think I offended his professional pride."

Moffitt sighed. "I'll try," he said. "Come on, Tully, I want to talk to you." He led the private to the other side of the truck while Watson began getting the tools out.

"Sarge, I know he's wrong, I--"

"Don't speak until you're spoken to, private!" said Moffitt loudly. Tully startled to attention. Moffitt continued in a considerably lower tone. "I know you're right; I'm suspicious of Watson. He may be a double agent, or he may be a German ringer, but either way I think he's set us up. I want to try an idea, and I want you to be my back-up. Stay around the back of the truck where he can't see you, and keep a sharp ear out. And keep that machine gun of yours ready. You'll know if you need to use it." Moffitt grinned suddenly. "You've just been sternly reprimanded, private."

Tully barked, "Yes, sir!" Moffitt left him and went around the front of the truck to see how their passenger was getting on. As he suspected, the tire looked fine, but Watson was making a brave show of it. Moffitt watched with some interest as the agent struggled with the lug nuts. "_Versucht entgegen dem Uhrzeigersinn_," he suggested casually. 

The agent shifted his grip to try turning it counterclockwise as suggested, then froze, realizing he'd given himself away. More quickly than Moffitt had expected, Watson jumped up, swinging the lug wrench. The two grappled for a moment as Tully came around the corner, machine gun at the ready. They were just too close together for him to fire and be sure of hitting the right one. Then Watson knocked Moffitt to the ground and raised the heavy tool, about to bring it down on his skull like a hammer. This gave Tully a clear shot and he fired, dropping Watson where he stood.

Tully went to Moffitt, who was pushing himself to his feet, and gave him a hand up. "You okay, Sarge?"

Moffitt put a hand to the side of his head where the wrench had connected briefly during the struggle; his hand came away bloody. They'd been grappling at such close quarters that there was little room to swing and land a blow with any great force, which was the reason he wasn't dead. That, and Tully's timely intervention. "Fine, Tully, thanks to you," he said. Pettigrew wasn't buying it, but Moffitt pushed past him to the truck. "We've got to get to Troy and Hitch--they're walking into a trap."

* * *

Troy and Hitchcock pulled up at the prescribed spot just outside the main entrance to the airfield. Here they would wait until Watson and his party arrived with the password for the night. The traffic had been light, and they were half-an-hour early. "Let's check on those explosives," said Troy. He and Hitch climbed into the back. Hitch pried up the lid of a crate of grenades that he had loaded from Watson's hidden cache and stared into it in horror.

"Sarge!" 

Troy joined him and looked into the crate. He swore under his breath. "Are they all like that?" Hitch pried off a few more lids. The boxes were full of junk - pieces of wood, empty cartridges, a few broken cinderblocks, a lot of straw. No explosives.

"Sarge, we've been double-crossed!" Hitch started for the back of the truck, as if to get out, but Troy restrained him with a firm hand on his arm.

"Before we do anything, let's think and think hard," he said. "We're early. That may give us some room to maneuver. Watson - or whoever he is - will probably show up soon with Moffitt and Tully and we need to be ready for them."

Hitch looked grave. "You don't think he'll kill them?"

Troy shook his head. "Not when he could present his boss with all four of us alive wrapped up in a pretty package." 

"Wonder who he works for?"

Troy shrugged. "He's done a hell of a professional job of fooling us. All the right papers, all the right information. . . . I'll bet he operates at a pretty high level. Probably outranks most of the people here." That made him think. "Hey, wait a minute." He thought for another minute and grinned at Hitch. "Follow me, don't talk, don't blow any bubbles." Hitch nodded.

Troy climbed down out the back of the truck, poked his head back in and said loudly in English, "They're not in there." Hitch jumped down, shaking his head. "Walk like you own the place," Troy muttered as they strode confidently up the street toward the airfield. The light traffic of soldiers and passersby paid them no attention.

He swaggered up to the guard on duty and said loudly, again in English, "I must see the commandant. Tell him it's 'Watson.'"

It was unclear whether the guard understood English, but at the sound of the name his eyes widened and he shouted to another soldier, who went running toward a nearby building. Troy and Hitch waited, growing more nervous by the minute, until a man in an officer's uniform emerged and strode directly toward them. The officer saluted and said something in German.

Troy shook his head. "I'm under strict orders not to break character. Speak English, please."

"Of course, Herr Watson," the commandant said. "We were not expecting you here to show up ."

Troy looked away, feigning embarrassment. "Something has gone wrong," he said quietly, taking the man by the elbow and leading him a little away from the guard, into the compound. "Those Rats must have gotten suspicious. They're not where I told them to wait. I'm afraid--" he looked around and lowered his voice further, "--they may already be in the compound."

The commandant drew back in horror. "The Rat Patrol! In my airfield! I shall sound the alarm and have them at once exterminated!"

"No, no, that's exactly what they'll expect," said Troy. "They'll try to make a get-away in the confusion. I'd like to propose an alternative. My assistant here--" he pointed to Hitch, "--and I will search the compound quietly. We hope to catch them red-handed in the very act of espionage."

"Excellent," said the commandant. "I write you a pass." He took out his notebook and scribbled something, handing it to Troy. Troy accepted it with some trepidation; for all he knew, the officer was on to them and the note said, "Kill the bearer." He'd just have to trust to luck.

"I'll start at the armory," said Troy. "It's where they'd go first, since I sabotaged their supplies. Now, I gave them my map, so if you could just point me in the right direction?"

"Of course," said the commandant, pointing to a nearby building.

"Thank you, sir," said Troy. He saluted and set off briskly, Hitch trotting in his wake.

Apparently the note was innocuous, as they passed safely into the armory. "Now what, Sarge?" whispered Hitch.

Troy began loading his pockets. "Supplies. Everywhere we inspect, we'll leave a memento behind."

Hitch's eyes lit up. "I like it!" he said.

The guard saluted as they left and crossed the compound to the strip where the airplanes were parked. It took surprisingly little time to "search" all the aircraft, planting timed explosive devices wherever they went.

They left the airfield and headed back toward the main gate. The guard stopped them. "Where do you go now?" he asked in heavily accented English.

"We need to check the back entrance," said Troy.

The guard nodded and began to open the door. Just then the commandant came running out of his office, waving a sheaf of papers and yelling in German. Troy heard the word _Amerikaner_ and knew the jig was up. Those papers were probably the commandant's orders concerning Watson, mentioning some inconvenient detail that Troy's appearance didn't match. Troy clobbered the startled guard with the butt of his gun while Hitch fired his machine gun in the general direction of the commandant. They slipped out through the half-open gate, only to see more guards pouring out of the barracks on the other side of the airfield. They had no more than a minute before they would be surrounded. More guards were coming toward them up the streets outside the compound. 

A German truck roared up the street toward them. Hitch raised his gun.

"Wait," said Troy, eying the truck closely. "Look who's driving"

Hitch sighed in relief. "Well, Sarge," he said, "I don't know any German drivers who chew matchsticks. Must be our boys." 

As the truck got closer Moffitt leaned out the passenger side and hollered at them to get in. The truck slowed down just enough for Troy and Hitch to scramble into the back.

Tully pulled out swiftly onto another street, where they blended in with the traffic. Behind them the noise and confusion suddenly increased as the muffled sound of explosions could be heard from the direction of the airfield. Out the back of the truck, Troy could see the angry orange flames and billowing black smoke from the planes he and Hitch had planted bombs on. He crawled forward and popped his head into the cab through a break in its rear wall.

"Nice timing," he said.

"Piece of cake," said Moffitt. "Nice pyrotechnics." 

"Thanks," said Troy. "How'd you catch on to Watson?" 

"A lot of little things just didn't add up," Moffitt said, turning his head in Troy's direction. The motion made him dizzy; he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. 

Troy inspected him briefly and turned to Tully. "Moffitt doesn't look so good."

"He had an argument with Watson over the proper use of a lug wrench," answered Tully.

"Who won?" asked Troy.

Tully patted the machine gun propped on the seat next to him. "I did."

"Good man," said Troy, punching Tully lightly on the shoulder.

* * *

Troy was already waiting in Boggs' office the next morning when Moffitt came in, looking his old jaunty self again. "Morning," said Troy. "You're looking well."

"Nothing like a good night's sleep," said Moffitt cheerfully. He'd spent the night in the infirmary, under observation. "To say nothing of pretty nurses."

Troy grinned. "Some guys get all the breaks." Then he jumped to his feet and Moffitt did the same as Boggs entered.

"Be seated, gentlemen," said the captain, sitting behind his desk and regarding them with a severe expression. "Now, I want a complete report of your adventures in Agedabia. I don't recall authorizing you to return and finish Watson's mission."

"Well, sir, it was like this," Troy began. He proceded to recount the events of the last few days, occasionally pausing to have Moffitt fill in events where Troy had not been present. Boggs listened to the whole story without interrupting. When it was finished, he leaned back in his chair. Troy and Moffitt looked at him and exchanged wary glances. They knew better than to expect lavish praise or approval, but the fact that he was not reprimanding them was a good sign.  
"There's one thing I'd like to clear up right away," Boggs said with a little frown. He reached into a drawer of his desk and came up with a file. "Here's a photo of our Watson." He opened the file and spread it out so Troy and Moffitt could see. "Is this the man you met?"

"Yes," said Troy immediately.

"That's he," said Moffitt.

"Then we must assume that he was a double agent," said Boggs. "I'll put that in the report I make to Hackett in Cairo; we'll see if we can find out how he got in past the screening." 

"Why would he pretend not to speak German, sir?" asked Troy. "It would have made him seem more valuable to our side."

"He would have spoken it too well," said Boggs. "He would have needed an elaborate cover story to explain it, which would have triggered an extensive background search." He looked pointedly at Moffitt. "Like having a father who taught at the University of Munich, and living in the area on and off for several years."

"A likely story," said Troy, winking at Moffitt.

Boggs harrumphed and closed the file again. "Thank you, gentlemen, that'll be all for now." They rose and turned to leave, when Boggs added, as if it were an afterthought, "The Royal Navy is quite pleased to have that airfield knocked out. It's going to make their job easier--and the Germans' job harder--for quite some time." 

"Our pleasure," said Troy.

* * *

As he left the office with Moffitt, Troy looked around the grounds curiously. The makeshift buildings and tents that made up temporary HQ were largely quiet, and few people were moving about. "Have you seen Hitch and Tully this morning?"

"No, and I don't believe we shall. Two of the aforementioned pretty nurses have vanished as well."

Troy shook his head. "The incredible stamina of the American soldier. . . "

"The envy of the world," said Moffitt. 

"Come on," said Troy, shaking his head. "Let's see what atrocity they're serving as breakfast this morning."


End file.
